


Everything in Time

by AstridEquinox, Whoreofaneboy



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Arranged Marriage, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Gender Dysphoria, Homophobia, M/M, NSFW, Rich!GeorgeNotFound, Smut, Trans!georgenotfound, Transphobia, bi!dream, dubcon, side relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:00:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25620238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstridEquinox/pseuds/AstridEquinox, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whoreofaneboy/pseuds/Whoreofaneboy
Summary: [Disclaimer: Applicable to all of my in-progress works] This fic is indefinitely discontinued, and it is extremely unlikely that I will be updating it again, though I may continue to post short things/oneshots.Though I appreciate the comments I receive asking about updates or enjoying my/this work, do not expect updates.If any continuation of this fic occurs, it will be up to my co-author.—————To be denied is an experience foreign to George. Everything in his life has been handed to him on a silver platter, and every step of his future has been laid out in neat, tidy lines. However, when his parents ask him to get married to the son of a richer family, Clay Arlington, he is forced to concede. Their relationship is dysfunctional, feelings confusing and unreciprocated at first. Will they even make it to the wedding before everything their parents so artfully arranged, comes crashing down around them?
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Nick | Sapnap & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Nick | Sapnap/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 66
Kudos: 223





	1. Plans

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Just a quick warning to you all before you read this fic. DO NOT READ this fic if you are NOT okay with...  
> \- Rape/Non-Con Elements  
> \- Emotional Manipulation  
> \- Gender Dysphoria  
> \- Side Relationships/Cheating  
> \- Sugar Daddy/Sugar Baby Relationship  
> \- Sexual Texting and Leaking of Nudes

Privilege was a burden and a blessing to George. It was an advantage and a prison he couldn’t escape, under the guise of parental expectations. He was grateful for the things he’d been given: brand new cars, expensive vacations, an excellent education at university he didn’t have to stress over. Though sometimes it felt as if they’d planned out his whole life for him, like every choice they offered was an illusion.

By the time he was twelve he knew where he was going to college, what he was going to study, where he was going to stay. They told him to hang out with, how to dress. His mother even picked the clothes he wore, and when and where he would wear them, everything short of physically dressing him.

Though he didn’t approve of his parents fashion choices for him, and it was the one thing he’d managed to get out of. The problem was his parents expected him to dress like a woman, around family and friends and business partners. To them he was Charlotte, Charlotte Caldwell, not George. As long as he’d known who he really was, his parents had denied him the right to explore his new identity.

When he was fifteen he asked them about gender reassignment surgery, and so they’d shipped him off to an all girls boarding school. They promised that if he behaved and got passed this ‘phase’ he’d get a brand new car, any kind he wanted, when he turned sixteen. In truth George never wanted a car, but he knew arguing with his parents would get him no where, but maybe with time they’d see how important this was to George.

When he asked about surgery, or even hormone therapy again at eighteen they bribed him to put the issue to bed. After George said he’d do it without their permission they threatened to cut him off completely, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to survive without his parents financial support. So he just stayed Charlotte at home, at parties and charity events, and around any family.

He was 23 now, still living with his parents. Though they could easily afford to support him living elsewhere, they claimed they wanted to ‘keep an eye on him,’ and said they just felt better having him at home. But for George it was suffocating, yet isolating. His parents never wanted to spend time with him, never showed any genuine concern for how he felt. They just wanted him to obey their expectations.

So he did.

Currently he sat at the table, in his family’s formal dining room. It was dinner hour, and strange that both of his parents were home. His mother worked as a photographer for a high end modeling agency, though it was more of a hobby as they didn’t require the income, she spent a lot of time away from home. Often she went on long business trips out of the country. His father was also busy constantly, running a large investment company.

But tonight, his parents had insisted upon a formal Sunday dinner, something they hadn’t done since they announced George would be attending boarding school. He felt nervous, knowing they must have had some kind of news pertaining to his future.

“Charlotte,” his mother said, a note of concern in her voice that made George’s nerves rattle. “There’s something your father and I would like to talk to you about.” So formal, like always. Whatever this was couldn’t be good.

“Okay,” George said plainly, already tired of this conversation.

“You know you’re father and I have always been very successful,” his mother began.

“Yeah, of course,” George replied, growing more concerned.

His mother took a deep breath, voice shaking as she continued, “unfortunately, we made a few bad investments, and we’re not doing too well financially.” George’s eyes went wide in shock and surprise. Of all the things that had happened in his life, he never expected money troubles from his family.

“What? What’s going to happen?” George asked, voice rising half an octave.

“Don’t worry Char, everything is going to be fine,” his father said, tone cool and distant. “We just need your help.” What could George possibly due to help? He was completely dependent on his parents money.

“How?” He asked shakily.

“Well...” his mother trailed off.

His father finished her sentence, “You’re going to be getting married.” George blinked slowly, unsure if he’d heard correctly.

“Excuse me?”

“There’s a very nice, wealthy family that your father’s been in business with, the Arlingtons” George’s mother continued, “And they have a son about your age-”

George cut her off, “you want me to marry some guy for his money because you guys fucked up?”

“Please, watch your language,” his mother said softly, like she hadn’t just dropped the world’s biggest bomb on him.

“W-what if I say no? I don’t want to _marry_ someone I’ve never even met!”

“You’ll get to know him later, and he’s a very handsome young man, I think you’d make a nice pair. I thought you liked men?” _What the hell does that have to do with anything?_ George’s face went red with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. His head was swimming.

“ _Mom_! Do you not get how insane this is? I’m not gonna marry _anyone_ I haven’t even met, especially not because you need money!”

“Calm down sweetie.”

His father spoke up again, “this isn't really a choice Charlotte. I know it’s a little unorthodox, but if you don’t do this we’re going to lose... everything.”

“You didn’t try another solution before marrying off your child like it’s the fucking dark ages?”

“We’ve been trying a lot of things, for quite some time now, but we didn’t want to tell you because we didn’t want you to worry,” his father said, tone still cool. It was unbelievable how calm they were right now. Like they just _knew_ George couldn’t do anything, he couldn’t make it without that money. He couldn’t deal with this, not now, not yet.

George pushed up from the table, still unable to wrap his head around the absurdity and down right violation of his situation. He almost felt an urge to laugh. “I-I can’t do this right now.”

“Char-” his mother attempted.

“Don’t call me that.” George walked away from the table. “I’m going to bed,” he called over his shoulder. He’d had enough of this for one night.

* * *

The buzz of the answering machine on Clay’s desk pulled him from his deep focus.

“Mister Arlington you have an incoming call,” the voice of his secretary, Cara, came through, grainy as always. Clay looked back the budget he’d been fussing with, curiosity buzzing.

“I’m not expecting any calls,” Clay said, holding down the button to reply. “Who is it?”

“It’s uh, Mister Arlington,” Cara clarified, seeming confused. _Why the hell is my dad calling me at work_? Clay wondered. Probably something about business, his father never really talked to him unless it was necessary. Hopefully it was about the funding he’d asked for a couple weeks ago.

“Put him through,” Clay replied. There was a buzz and a moment later Clay heard a familiar voice through the speaker.

“Good afternoon, Clay,” his father greeted.

“Hey, dad,” Clay said, far less formal. If only his father could see that he had his feet propped up on the edge of his desk. The old man would lose his mind. He always told Dream he was smart, too smart for his own good, to the point it made him reckless. Especially when he’d dropped out of college to start his own company a couple years ago. But the endeavor had been successful.

Though it took a generous amount of funding from his father to start on newer, larger projects, Clay was living on his own now, making a decent amount of money. He almost felt satisfied with the accomplishment, but it still felt like something was missing in his life.

“How’s the budget plan coming along?” His father asked. Clay rubbed his eyes, yawned.

“It’s good, still have a few kinks to work out but I should be able to get it to you by Wednesday.”

“Perfect, I’ll be waiting for it.” Clay knew his dad had called him for something more than just an update on the budget plan, that was hardly worth an email.

“Is there anything else you want to talk about? I’ve got to get back to work.”

Clay’s father cleared his throat, “yes, actually there is something else but I’m not going to tell you about it over the phone. I want you to come over for dinner tonight.” For God’s sake why hadn’t he just sent Clay a text on his cell?

“I don’t think I can make it tonight, I have a lot to get done.”

“You need to go.” His father’s voice crackled slightly. “It’s related to your funding.” Clay sighed. He hated dinner with his family, but if he wanted to work on any serious up sizing within the next couple years he needed that support from his father. So he resigned himself to going.

“Are Darla and Philip going to be there?” His older brother and sister, who always made family dinners that much worse when they were present. He crossed his fingers, hoping they wouldn’t be.

“No, just your mother and I.”

“Okay, I’ll be there. What time?” Dream asked, already mentally rearranging his schedule for the rest of the day to accommodate the solid two hours he was going to lose.

“Seven. Alright I have to get back to work Clay. Don’t be late.”

“Bye-” Clay started to say, just as his father disconnected from the call, leaving him in silence. He sighed, and turned back to his budget plans.

Clay didn’t eat much at dinner, speaking plainly as his mother and father danced around the conversation they’d invited him over to have. Clay wasn’t fond of boring pleasantries, but he’d grown up in family that had money and had been like that for generations. Unfortunately dull obligatory conversation was part of that life.

“Clay,” his mother said, “we’ve been very worried about you lately.” Clay was puzzled. He felt just fine, his company was doing well, his health was fine. What did they have to worry about?

“Why?” Clay asked. “I’m fine. DreamTech is doing great-”

“This isn’t about your company,” his father said. “We’re proud of you, and this is about you.”

“We care about you,” his mother chimed in.

“And we care how other people see you,” his father continued. Clay sensed an unease in the room, a deeper meaning to their words that spelled trouble for him. Whatever they were inferring had everything to do with them, he knew they didn’t care for him in the way family was meant to.

“What are you getting at?”

“Well you’re almost twenty two and you’ve never had a serious girlfriend,” his mother said. “And there are some, rumors, going around about your... nighttime habits. We think it’s time you settled down, it would be good for your image.”

“Is this about me being bi?” Clay asked incredulously, “you want me to get a girlfriend and pretend I’m not into men? What does this have to do with funding for DreamTech.”

Clay’s father looked a bit irritated as he spoke, “your habits have been causing problems for this family. We don’t want our reputation to go down the drain. So if you don’t do what we ask I will revoke the funding, and I own enough shares in DreamTech to have it shut down if I need to.”

Clay laughed nervously, “you can’t shut down my company that’s my whole life. I-I dropped out of college for DreamTech.”

His father smiled sympathetically, “you make our lives easier and funding won’t be a problem at all.”

“So I have to get a girlfriend to make the family look better, so you don’t _ruin my life_?” Clay couldn’t belief how selfish his parents were sometimes.

“Well, not exactly, you’re going to be getting married.”

“What?” Clay asked. No way in hell he needed to get _married_ just to make them look better. That was definitely an extreme, a threat to make their previous option seem more favorable.

“I’ve been working with Mister Caldwell and he has a very nice daughter, Charlotte, she’s a bit troubled, but you’d go well together.”

“I don’t even know her, and _troubled_?” What did that even mean? Was his father trying to set him up with some basket case?

“Nothing serious, you’ll see when you meet her. But the Caldwell’s are a very distinguished family, and it would be good for us to have ties to them.” _Good_ , probably good for his dad’s business, good to make Clay get married, live a boring life and then die unhappy.

“At least give her a chance,” his mother reasoned, “getting married isn’t so terrible.” Clay wasn’t sure he believed that, but he knew his father wasn’t kidding about DreamTech, and he supposed he was willing to do anything for his company. It was all he had.

Though his heart raced, and his head overflowed with worries and doubts he said, “I’ll meet her.”


	2. Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His father was at the door, waiting for George and his mother to get down the stairs. Once they had, George stopped at the bottom, looking towards the front door with wide eyes. He was shaking slightly at the prospect of his fiance being homophobic, transphobic, or just not liking him or his personality altogether. His mother stopped next to him with a pleasant smile on her face, her hands folded just under her chest. Finally, his father opened the door, stepping aside to let the guests in. 
> 
> George watched nervously as a man and a woman walked into the house, both of them looking way too old to be his fiance. He played with the fabric of his dress nervously until he saw him, and when he did, his jaw dropped.

Today was the day. The day that George would meet his husband and his partner for life. He hadn’t explicitly agreed to meeting up with him, but since he hadn’t said no, his parents got in contact with the parents of his fiance, and only two days later they had finalized a plan for their kids to meet. So now George sat in his room, wearing a simple collared shirt and some slacks. He was praying that his parents wouldn’t come in to check on him, as they would tell him to put some makeup on and dress like a ‘real girl’. Dressing like a real girl meant wearing dresses and heels, something that George absolutely despised, especially in his situation.

As if on cue, he felt a soft knock at his door before his mother opened it slightly, poking her head through the door. At the sight of what George was wearing, she gasped in disdain and rushed over to him.

“Char, what do you think you’re wearing!?” Mrs. Caldwell exclaimed, reaching George’s side in record time and putting a warm hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Arlington and his son are going to arrive within the hour - you can’t possibly think that this is acceptable!”

“What’s the problem?” George grumbled, looking away from her. “I’m wearing something fancy and reserved, just like you wanted me to.”

“I meant a _dress_ , sweetheart,” his mother moved the hand that was on George’s shoulder to lightly grip his right hand, helping him up. “You have so many pretty ones. Come, let’s get you all nice and pretty for tonight.”

Pretty. George hated being pretty. His parents had been calling him that ever since he was young, before he realized that he didn’t identify as a girl. He knew his parents meant well, and the compliment used to lift him up at first, but once he realized his true gender identity the compliment turned into something similar to an insult, especially since his parents weren’t supportive when he tried to explain to them that he was George, not Charlotte.

His mother had led him to his large walk-in closet, a long hallway with bars on each side to hang clothes on. The long hallway of the closet went for a decent number of yards until it led into a more open area with a small box-looking platform for George to stand on and big mirrors all around. George hated it. He hated standing there and looking at himself from all angles, seeing himself in a woman’s body when he was a man. However, his mother wasn’t phased as she began to look through the dress section of George’s wardrobe, a section that was about fifty times bigger than he would have liked it to be. His parents were very traditional in terms of clothing, which didn’t fare well for him when it came to what he was supposed to wear. 

Finally, his mother pulled out a short red dress that would hug his body nicely, something that George tried to avoid at all times. He was too skinny, yet despite being underweight for his age and height group, he still managed to maintain more of a feminine figure. If he were to wear this dress, he wouldn’t be able to wear his binder because the thick black straps would look ridiculous under the thin ones of the red dress. The thought that he would have to reveal the slight chest that he had on the top of his torso to his new fiance was disgusting to him. Absolutely disgusting.

“Charlotte!” He heard a slightly annoyed voice in that moment, snapping him out of his trance with a slight jump. He blinked and focused his eyes on his mother, who was staring at him with a bit of a worried expression as she held out the dress for him. “Are you getting lost in your head again, Char? Do we need to get you another therapist?”

“No,” George took the dress reluctantly, setting it carefully on the ground (he wanted to throw it into the trash, but if he handled the dress without patience and care, his mother would have his head). He then began to take off his collared shirt, recalling the time in which his parents had gotten him a therapist. They had George go to sessions hoping that his gender dysphoria was just a phase, that the therapist could talk him out of it, but it didn’t work. If anything, it made him hate his body more than he already had been, being told by the therapist over and over again that he was born a girl, with female chromosomes and a female body, and therefore he was one. He didn’t want to go back to that - would give anything to avoid it at all costs, so he said nothing and slipped his shirt off, ignoring the frustrated sigh that his mother made at the sight of him in his binder.

He took the binder off too, knowing that if he didn’t she would say something, and he really didn’t want to get into an argument before already failing at being able to find someone that he actually cared about to get into a relationship with. He unbuckled his belt and let his slacks fall, revealing the boxers that he had underneath. He took those off as well, avoiding looking in the mirror. He had to change into feminine undergarments as well, preferably a thong as his mother would want. He didn’t like those. They would scratch up his ass and cause it to be all red and irritated. He couldn’t wrap his head around how women were able to do it, but he would have to suffer for tonight. He reached over to a drawer that was close to the mirror which held his female undergarments, pulling out a small red thong that would blend in with the fabric if it were to leave a panty outline on the back of the dress. He put it on, followed by stepping into the red dress, letting his mother zip it up in the back for him. When she was done, she stepped back, letting out an exhale.

“Wow, Char…” his mother trailed off, looking him up and down while George stared at the floor, slightly teary-eyed. “You look gorgeous.”

George said nothing as he stepped down from the podium, turning away from the mirrors. “I’m assuming I have to wear makeup, right?” He asked with a bit of attitude to his voice. He thought that his mother was about to scold him for it, but she surprisingly replied without chiding him, perhaps trying to understand that George was nervous to meet his fiance.

“Nothing too much, because then you’ll look like a clown for your fiance. Maybe a bit of mascara and a nude lipstick,” she walked out of the closet and towards George’s vanity, a small sit-down area with some mini drawers filled with assorted kinds of makeup. George followed her there, sitting down on the small cushioned stool while avoiding the mirror there too. George hated being in a room with a mirror, he felt trapped. Unfortunately for him, his room was covered in them, due to the fact that his parents insisted that he see how beautiful he was everywhere he went. He didn’t feel beautiful. He felt like a bird in a cage, trapped in his own body, a cage that he would never get out of as long as he was around his guardians. He was trapped in this world.

He tried to hold back his tears as his mother retrieved a mascara and a light pink lipstick from the makeup drawers on his vanity. He closed his eyes while she gingerly applied mascara to his too-long lashes, humming a little tune as she went. When she was done, he parted his lips ever so slightly, a hint of his front teeth showing through the opening. Mrs. Cladwell began to apply the lipstick to his lips, his plump lips. Too plump. Finally, she pulled away, allowing George to open his eyes and rub his lips together like he was supposed to. 

“Beautiful,” His mother smiled at him, putting the makeup back into its rightful drawers. “Mr. Arlington’s son will love you. Speaking of which, he should be arriving right about-” she was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. She then grinned wider, holding out her hand for George to take. “Now. Come on, Char, let’s meet them downstairs,” she started to lead George towards the door and down the stairs as soon as he had taken her hand, holding it tightly as she went. 

As he walked at a speedy pace to keep up with his mother, George felt his anxiety peak. What would his fiance look like? What if he was ugly? What if he was abusive, or didn’t like him? What if he was insistent that he was a _girl_? That would be the worst experience ever, leaving George to be miserable for the rest of his life. He could only hope that his fiance wasn’t that bad, and treated him well.

His father was at the door, waiting for George and his mother to get down the stairs. Once they had, George stopped at the bottom, looking towards the front door with wide eyes. He was shaking slightly at the prospect of his fiance being homophobic, transphobic, or just not liking him or his personality altogether. His mother stopped next to him with a pleasant smile on her face, her hands folded just under her chest. Finally, his father opened the door, stepping aside to let the guests in. 

George watched nervously as a man and a woman walked into the house, both of them looking way too old to be his fiance. He played with the fabric of his dress nervously until he saw him, and when he did, his jaw dropped.

Standing in front of him was the most handsome man that he had ever seen. He was very tall, with slightly messy dirty blonde hair and piercing yellow eyes (since it was a lighter yellow, George assumed that they were green due to his colorblindness). His skin was pale, but not too much so, and the shape of his face was delicately sharp. He didn’t have lips that were as plump as George’s, but they were not thin either, very kissable from George’s point of view. The boy was wearing a simple collared shirt, looking to be a bit of a light yellow, the top three buttons undone, showing a sliver of his chest. George could see a little bit of an outline of the young man's collarbone, and couldn’t help but think that he wanted to plant his lips there, and a million other places on his body. He couldn't help the places his mind went. 

Then their eyes locked on each other, and George’s whole world stopped. He could have stared at this dapper looking specimen all day, but unfortunately now was not the time. His mother giggled a little bit, noticing his expression as the boy and his parents walked up to them while Mr. Cladwell followed closely behind them.

“Are you Charlotte?” The boy asked once he was in front of George, looking him up and down. He didn’t show a lot of emotion in his eyes, however the fact that they were roving over George’s body in such a way made him shiver. 

“Y-yes… I’m Geor- I mean… Charlotte Caldwell,” George felt his cheeks heating up as a warm blush filled his cheeks, looking up at the boy’s eyes.

“Nice to meet you,” the boy raised an eyebrow at George’s slight mess-up, but held his hand out for him to shake. “I’m Clay Arlington, founder of DreamTech.”

_Clay_ , George thought as he took the boy’s hand, blushing even more at the firm grip that his fiance had. 

Wait. 

Fiance. 

That’s right, George had to marry this man. This man that he barely knew. Even though he was...very attractive, he certianly didn’t know if Clay was the man that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, much less be in a relationship with. His demeanor changed once he realized that, snapping out of his trance and letting go of Clay’s hand, looking a lot less enthralled than he was before. Clay seemed to notice the sudden change, and awkwardly looked away, showing off the outline of the side of his throat as he did. George gulped and also looked away.

“Charlotte, why don’t you take Clay up to your room while the adults speak in private?” George’s father suggested, looking over at Mr. and Mrs. Arlington. George nodded and turned towards the steps, folding his arms over his chest instead of underneath so that he could try and hide his chest.

“Follow me,” he said begrudgingly to Clay, then began to walk up the stairs, leading him to his room.

* * *

As Clay followed Charlotte, he looked around the house, trying to avoid looking at her at all costs. He had to admit, she was very beautiful, and seeing her in that dress made him question how strong his impulse control was. If only she was a one night stand instead of his god damn fiancée. Things would have been so much easier that way.

Finally, they reached a room at which Char stopped at, reaching out to open the door. She stepped back to let the door open all the way for Clay, looking at him with a pout and flushed cheeks. “Get in already, before I leave you out here.”

Clay was surprised at her sudden change in attitude, but he certainly wasn’t opposed to it. Though it wasn't like he could be predicting her behavior yet. He walked inside of the room as calmly as he could, muttering a quick ‘thank you’ to her to let her know that he was grateful. He glanced back at her once he was in the room, watching her close the door.

However, Charlotte didn’t just close the door. She rolled her eyes while doing it. Dream couldn’t help but smirk as he wondered what she was thinking, once again giving her a full-body scan until his eyes rested softly on her rear end. He stared for a moment, then quickly looked away when Charlotte turned around, resting her hands on her hips and glaring at him.

“Let me make one thing clear for you, _Clay_ ,” she spoke the word with an underlying venom, as if it were disgusting for her to even say it. “I don’t want to marry you. I’m only doing this because my parents forced me into it.”

"Poor thing,” Clay sat down on the end of Char’s bed, looking up at the angry woman. “Well, then it might disappoint you to know that I never wanted to be with you either. You’re hardly my type.”

Charlotte looked a bit taken aback by the insult, then quickly regained her composure and let loose a harsh scoff. “I guess I'm not your type because you're not into guys?” Charlotte said, then stopped and covered her mouth, her eyes widening as she realized what she had just said. Clay looked at her with confusion, but also a hint of newfound interest.

“What?” Clay asked, putting both his hands on the covers on each side of his hips, leaning back on his arms a bit.

Charlotte removed her hands from her mouth, using one of them to anxiously scratch at her arm. “I’m trans, my parents just won't let me get surgery.”

“That’s alright,” Clay said, a bit softer than the agitated tone that he used before, feeling a bit guilty. “Do you have a different name, then?”

“George,” the boy looked at Clay, his chocolate brown eyes soft as they met Clay's own. "I prefer George.”

“George,” Clay murmured, repeating the name to himself. “I like that name.”

“Thanks,” George blushed slightly again, looking down. As he did, he appeared to realize that he was in a dress, despite being a boy. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to go change. This dress is really uncomfortable, and I’d rather be in something I feel safe in.” Clay wondered if he was the biggest reason George didn't feel safe.

“Of course. I’ll wait for you,” Clay offered George a bit of a reassuring smile, though he didn’t know why. He certainly didn’t want to be with George long-term, despite him being the cutest boy he had ever seen. He almost felt bad for him, watching as George walked towards a large door. He wondered how long he had been dealing with his dysphoria before, and how terrible he must feel in his own skin. But, that didn’t matter, he just met George, and it wasn’t his responsibility to take care of him. 

George began to close the door to his closet, but then quickly turned back to shoot Clay a glare. “Don’t look. If you do, I’ll kick you in the nuts,” he warned quickly before shutting the door behind him. 

Clay chuckled at that. He sincerely doubted George was any good in a fight. George was very short, for a man, of course due to the fact that he was born in the wrong body, so Clay was almost a foot taller than him. George certainly didn't seem like the type to spent a lot of time in a gym either, Clay was certainly more fit. George appeared to be underweight, but not too much so. He found his train of thought wandering a tad too far. 

What if he just took a peak at George?

George was indeed very attractive, with a pretty face and plump lips, as well as long eyelashes and a few more feminine curves. Since he didn’t have much muscle on him, if Clay was to look, George wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop him if he found out. If George tried, Clay could easily turn the situation in his favor, pin George against a wall or the floor. It would be so simple, so why not take the risk?

Trying to make as little noise as possible, Clay deftly stood up from the bed, making his way over to the door of the closet. He pressed his ear against the door, trying to hear something, but of course he couldn’t. The Caldwells were certainly rich enough to live in a building with soundproof walls, so he would have to try and open the door with as little sound as possible. 

Clay slowly put a hand on the indent in the door that allowed it to slide open, pushing it with very little strength. The door was pushed slightly to the left and revealed a crack in which he could peek through. Clay did just that, closing one eye and pressing the other up to the crack, trying to catch a glimpse of what George was doing.

George appeared to be wearing a pair of blue boxers, short and about the length of the shorts that most girls wore. He appeared to be shirtless up top, but since he was facing towards the mirrors at the back of the closet, Clay couldn’t see anything in terms of private parts. However, he was able to see the small of George’s back, watching as it arched gracefully as the boy reached over for a Gucci crewneck off of one of the hangers in his closet. He turned the crewneck so that it was upside down, then slipped his head through, pushing his arms through the holes and letting out a sigh as he did so. He then turned around and walked towards a set of drawers close to his mirror, choosing a pair of grey sweatpants and quickly slipping those on. He then began to make his way towards the closet door, and Clay hurriedly moved to sit on the edge of the bed like he had been doing before. By the time George walked out, it was as if nothing had happened.

“You actually didn’t look,” George seemed surprised, taking a seat next to Clay. “I thought you'd at least try something.”

Clay chuckled as the slightly cocky tone returned in George’s voice, looking over at him. “Glad you’re in something comfortable, but for what it’s worth, that dress looked good on you.”

Clay watched as a mad blush crept onto George’s cheeks, leaving him incredibly flustered and angry at the same time. "I don't feel good in a dress!"

“But that sweater leaves too much to the imagination,” Clay felt a bit more confident as he tried to crack a joke, looking down at his lap as he examined his nails. “You should wear things that that don't make me guess. Maybe a crop top?”

George’s cheeks turned even redder as hunched his shoulders and crossed his arms, his glare was sharp enough to cut as he looked at Clay. “This isn't the fucking 1950's! You don't get to tell me what to wear just because we're engaged!”

Clay snickered and stood up as well, looking down at George as he towered over him. “I think you've got that wrong.” He then put his right hand on George’s left shoulder, pushing him down gently into the bed. “This can go very well for you, George, but you're going to have to make some changes. When I tell you to do something, you're going to do it. When I ask you to wear something, you're going to wear it. When you want something from me, you have to make it worth my while. All you have to do is listen. ” Clay watched George, staring into his wide brown eyes. The boy was shaking, not daring to move as he looked between Clay’s eyes and the firm hand on his shoulder. “I’m willing to work with you, even though I don’t want this and neither do you. I promise you, George Caldwell, I’ll treat you like a king, but only if you listen to me and follow my rules. If you don’t,” Clay tightened his grip on George’s shoulder, his fingers digging into it to make it hurt, but not too much so. He leant down to whisper the last few words into George’s ear, a promise that he was making not only to him, but to himself. "I will make your life a living hell.”

Finally, Clay pulled away, leaving George speechless and slightly scared. The sight of seeing him like that sparked something carnal in Clay, leaving him wanting to completely destroy the boy’s world, just to see him in tears. George probably looked so beautiful when he was crying. 

Just then, there was a knock on the door, and Mrs. Caldwell opened it, poking her head in to see the both of them. “Just so you know, we will be hosting a party to celebrate your guys’ engagement! Hopefully you’ll be able to exchange rings there and get to know each other more. It will be this Sunday, Clay, your parents already know the details and it's a black tie dress-code, don't forget. Enjoy the rest of your time together, kids!” Mrs. Caldwell said cheerily as she closed the door, making her way back towards the steps to meet with the rest of the family.

Clay turned towards George, flashing him a smile. “I guess I’ll see you there then, Mr. Arlington,” he turned away and made his way towards the door, opening it and looking back at the wide-eyed boy once more. “Have a nice night.” And with that, he left the room without another word, leaving George incredibly flustered and furious at the same time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like the chapter? I'd love to hear your guys' feedback and get some comments! I wrote the whole thing and it was like nine pages on google docs and around 4000 words! Whoreofaneboy was kind enough to read it and make a few wording changes as they saw fit, but the majority of the chapter was written by me, Astrid! I hope you enjoyed and I can't wait to see your feedback in the comments! Love you all and stay safe! <3


	3. The Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why are you looking at me like that?” Clay asked.
> 
> “You got me a girl drink.” Clay rolled his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took a million years I've been writing at scarce opportunities! Also it was just a very tedious chapter to write because I really wanted to nail it. Hope it was worth the wait.

The venue choice had been courtesy of Mrs. Arlington, and it was a strange place to be. It was large and winding, doors and rooms tucked off to the sides. The lighting was warm yet dim, the color scheme rich reds and browns, and the ceilings low. Something about it was meant to feel intimate and cozy, but to George it just felt suffocating.

He’d arrived with his parents, but they’d disappeared into the crowd of bodies, all mingling with snobby laughter and expensive drinks in their hands. George didn’t feel inclined to join that group, and even if this part was dedicated to him and Clay, he felt outside of it all. Unconsciously, he found himself searching for Clay.

Once again his mother had coaxed him into wearing a short black dress and makeup, and he felt odd stumbling around this maze of a place in the dress. It was exposing, embarrassing, and he felt eyes on him in places he wished he could hide. People waved, called him over, congratulated him, but he didn’t want to be part of this. So, he slipped further into the crowd, still looking for Clay, hoping he could just disappear.

It wasn’t that George _wanted_ to see Clay, but he felt obligated to find him. The past few days he’d been unable to get the man off his mind, and it was frustrating. George hated him, hated their parents, hated the fact he was being sold like chattel. Just knowing that there was nothing for George to do, that he was going to have to marry Clay made him angry, and scared. What was he expected to do as a _wife_? The word made him feel sick.

There was something not terrible about Clay, the way he respected George as man, even if he’d seen him in a dress. The way he spoke to George, the effortlessness and innuendo of his words made him feel _something_ he didn’t care to feel for other people. It made George even more scared, and it almost made him want to see Clay again.

He thought about the kinds of jokes Clay made, the way his eyes had felt on George. _Were they jokes_? Clay was certainly attractive, but thoughts of engaging in physical intimacy with him were frightening. Would George have to? Did he want to? What if Clay tried to force himself on George? The way he’d spoken, the assertiveness in his tone, the speech about rules, it certainly seemed like Clay would expect certain things from him.

He felt vulnerable, and found he couldn’t come to a comforting conclusion about Clay, he was too unpredictable. He’d been polite in greeting, downright pervy when he was staring at George in a dress, but so accepting when George revealed his true identity. Truly he hadn’t seemed so bad, not until he’d laid out his guidelines for George to follow.

George’s hands were shaking as he stared at an abandoned tray laden with crystal glasses of champagne. George didn’t drink, as a rule, but something about the way they reflected the warm light was enticing. They were almost sparkling, the liquid within gently bubbly. _Maybe just one glass,_ he thought, maybe it would be enough to stop the shaking, to make him feel just a bit safer.

He picked up one of the crystal flutes, and took a swig of the golden liquid - it burned going down his throat. A moment later he felt a pleasant warmth rising from deep within his chest, though it faded quickly. He couldn’t believe he’d never tried this before. Soon he was taking a second sip, then another, and in a minute he’d drained the glass, though he hardly felt different.

The shaking wasn’t gone, he felt too feminine, too aware of his body. Fear of Clay’s expectations still bounced around in his skull as he remembered the words he’d said, pressing George down into the bed. He reached for a second glass, hoping no one was watching. But they all seemed too preoccupied to care what he was doing, until he felt a firm hand on his wrist, pulling it away from the champagne.

“Slow down,” a familiar voice said, low but stern. It was Clay. George just felt instantly angry at the sight of him, and he pulled his arm away from Clay, upset at him for thinking he deserved any control over what George did with his body. He was scared too, worried what else Clay might try to force on him. There were some things he wasn’t comfortable with, and wasn’t ready for.

“Don’t _touch_ me,” George snapped, whirling around to face the devil himself, Clay fucking Arlington, whose light eyes darted around the room quickly before returning to settle on George.

“Quit guzzling champagne!” Clay whispered furiously, and George felt even angrier. _Maybe I’ll go for something stronger,_ he thought bitterly.

“I’m fine,” George said, reaching for the glass again, but Clay stopped him.

“Do you even drink?” George genuinely thought about that, noticing how everything seemed a bit softer. How even if his heart was beginning to race, he didn’t feel quite as scared of Clay as he had the night they’d met.

“I do now,” George smirked, watching as Clay sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. For some reason the action made George feel guilty, like a disobedient child.

“Okay, well you need to be careful, give it a few minutes before you start reaching for seconds,” Clay explained, at least he wasn’t trying to stop George from drinking altogether. George still tried to reach for another glass, but Clay caught his other hand. George tried to pull away but Clay wouldn’t let him.

“Let me make my own mistakes,” George ground out. Clay’s opinion didn’t matter right, he just wanted to forget the anxious feeling in the pit of his stomach. He kept finding his eyes wandering over Clay’s body, intermittently glaring up at him. Clay looked irritated as George kept trying to get his wrists back.

“Remember what I told you?” Clay said, low voice taking on an edge, and he leaned down a bit, lips hovering by George’s ear. “Listen, obey.” George averted his eyes, shame and frustration brewing inside him. His only choice was to do what Clay told him, he was trapped: physically, financially, mentally. Clay was his whole future.

“O-okay,” George said, trying to maintain his composure as his anger boiled down to a sort of desperation. This hurt him in a way that couldn’t be put into words; he felt cold, alone, yet... suffocated. Why did he suddenly feel like crying?

“It’s too crowded here,” Clay said, “come with me.” George didn’t say anything as Clay let one of his wrists slip free, using the other to guide him through the maze of bodies. It felt like everyone was watching, but no one was really paying attention to them. George felt eyes on his body in places he wished they weren't. Maybe it was his mind playing tricks on him, but he still felt so wrong in this body, in this dress.

Why was it so hot? Why were there so many rooms? It felt like there was a thousand places to disappear, but George was being put on display. Clay just kept leading him forward, through the maze, like he’d been here a thousand times. Soon enough they were alone, tucked into a small alcove off a narrow hallway, old looking paintings adorning its walls.

They were alone now, though the dull chatter of a party was still audible through the thin walls. And George took a moment to really look at Clay, his hair looked soft, neater than it had last time. He seemed more pulled together now, still seeming too comfortable in his own skin in a way that made George jealous. The way he pulled off a suit was astonishing; his must have been custom tailored because it fit _perfectly_.

Clay’s eyes were on him in turn, in a way that felt deeply assessing, like he was either staring into George’s soul or trying to mentally undress him. He felt different being alone with Clay in a place like this. When they were at home in his room it had been another story, but this place was unfamiliar, and it made him feel even more uncomfortable.

“Why did you bring me here?” George asked tentatively, feeling increasingly isolated and unsafe.

“It’s more private,” Clay said, as if that clarified his intentions. But George didn’t feel any better. The feeling of Clay’s eyes on his still felt invasive and unwelcome, as attractive as he was _controlling_ , and George didn’t want that. _But you have to,_ George thought with a pang of unease.

“I-I don’t feel comfortable being alone with you,” George mumbled. His cheeks were warm from the champagne still, and he was starting to feel a tad lightheaded, not enough to really make any difference in his mood.

“Well, you’re going to have to get over that,” Clay said unsympathetically. The implications of his words made George’s heartbeat quicken. He knew, he really did, he knew that his worst fears were going to come true with this man, and all he could do was endure. His whole body was trembling again.

Clay sighed, examining George once more, “You know, I think you need another drink. Stay here.” Clay turned and walked down the hall again, leaving George blissfully alone for at least a few minutes.

When Clay came back he was holding a deep crystal goblet filled with a rich red wine, and a glass of scotch with ornate patterns carved into the glass. _Of course he brought me wine_. George shot a dirty look at Clay as he took his place standing next to George, offering him the glass of wine. George had to admit it looked tempting, but Clay’s assumptions irritated him to know end, even if it was a bad idea to piss him off.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Clay asked.

“You got me a girl drink,” George complained as Clay rolled his eyes.

“It’s _wine_ , anyone can have wine. Do you _really_ want to try this?” Clay said, offering the glass of scotch to George. He looked at the brownish liquid, admired how the glass reflected the light, how small it seemed in Clay’s hand. Then he did something unexpected, grabbing the glass from Clay.

He raised it to his lips, looking at Clay over the rim as he took a sip, instantly recoiling. It tasted like a boot, and it burned going down his throat, leaving a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. He shuddered slightly.

Clay snickered, then looked at George with a raised eyebrow. “See?”

George kept his eyes on the drink in his hand, not wanting to give Clay the satisfaction of seeing him give up on it. _Fuck it_ , George thought. He did his best to relax his throat, choking down a large mouthful of the stuff, and then another, and then the glass was empty. Coughing, grimacing at the unpleasant taste and sensation, he handed the glass back to Clay who looked at him with surprise.

“Well,” Clay said, blinking slowly, and taking the glass back, “You really aren’t supposed to drink it so... quickly, but I guess that works.” He seemed amused, yet bewildered, and he handed the glass of wine to George, who did take it, eager to wash the taste out of his mouth.

“That stuff is disgusting,” George said, “How do you drink it?”

“You’re supposed to sip it, not chug it! It’s really not that bad.” Clay pondered for a moment, “You should be fine, it’ll hit someone like you pretty quick, just be careful with the wine too.”

“Are you calling me a lightweight?”

“Yes,” Clay said plainly, “I’m gonna go get a refill, I guess.” He started walking away again, faster than he had last time. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

“Get me one too, please,” George requested.

“I think you’ve had enough!” Clay called over his shoulder. George felt a bit of pride in himself, not really considering the amount of alcohol he’d consumed so rapidly, as he took a sip of the wine. It was actually pretty good.

George waited in peaceful silence, still not feeling the scotch or the wine he’d been sipping. It had to kick in soon, maybe that would be how he’d coped with Clay. He’d just be a fucking alcoholic, it would be nice to just not care about anything.

George was almost halfway done with his wine by the time he saw Clay coming back down the hallway, drink in hand.

“Why do you really want me in private?” George asked suddenly, bluntly, the words slipping from his lips before he knew he intended to say them.

“I want our conversation to be safe, George, people like to listen.”

“I don’t feel safe,” George said, “Not with you.” For some reason he felt as though it’s a fault, like there’s something wrong with him, more than he’s been told.

“That’s what I want to talk to you about,” Clay said softly, his gaze kinder, curiosity piqued as he met George’s eyes. “What are you so afraid of?” Something in his tone made George feel warm. Why did Clay have to be so confusing?

“I don’t know what you want from me! You... you gave me these _rules_ and I don’t know how to feel,” George’s voice cracked, he wanted to cry but he couldn’t, not in front of Clay. He was feeling the alcohol now, the warmth and heaviness in his body. He felt dizzy, off kilter.

Clay’s words were still so tender, “It’s nothing bad, George, I just want this to go well for us, so the world sees us in the way it was meant to.” What did that even mean? Everything felt so confusing now. George looked down at his wineglass.

“What does that mean?” George asked, lacking a filter, suddenly caring even less about the words that left his mouth. Nothing really mattered did it? Did it even matter what Clay expected from him? “What are you going to do to me?”

“What do you mean?” Clay asked.

“Am I supposed to let you fuck me?” George said, suddenly angry, surprised at himself for being so direct. But everything was too fuzzy now, it couldn’t matter. What could Clay really do to him that would be so bad? Was he really just scared of sex? It had to be something more, but he’d never been with anyone, and the idea of being with Clay made him feel unreasonably nervous. How would Clay treat him, especially because he was trapped in the wrong body?

“Is that what you’re worried about?” Clay said sympathetically, but laughed softly. “George, of course I want you. You’re very handsome.” George felt his face heat up. “I promise I’ll take good care of you, and we don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“You didn’t answer my question. It doesn’t seem like I get to choose,” George frowned as Clay smiled.

“That’s just how it is,” Clay purred, “If I’m going to be with you I want to show you how much I care. I won’t hurt you.” George felt so close to him. “We could do it now, or we could wait until the wedding, but I want you.” The alcohol hit him harder, everything was so hot, Clay was so hot...

Maybe he did want this, maybe he just wanted to do this now, to get it out of the way while he cared so much less. Right now nothing really mattered, nothing but Clay’s body so close to him. _What the fuck is happening to me?_ Did Clay drug his drink?

“I think,” George bit his lip. “I think I want you now.” Clay looked at him, light colored eyes wide with a pleasant surprise. He seemed doubtful, though.

“Are you sure?” Clay asked, closer now, the faintest smell of liquor on his breath. George didn’t feel sure, but before he knew what was happening he was talking.

“Yes,” George whispered, breathing harder, heart pumping. “I want to see how far I can go.” Clay looked at him one more time, and then his lips were on George’s. He went rigid for a moment not knowing what to do, but his body knew to relax. His mouth softened, as Clay took the lead, pressing him back into the wall. It felt so strange, so right.

Clay’s tongue was in his mouth, hands sliding down to his waist, and George was having trouble breathing. It felt like he was blushing everywhere, his hands had started shaking again, accumulating sweat from his nervousness. He tentatively wrapped his arms around Clay’s neck, unsure what to do with them. It seemed like Clay was already doing everything.

All of a sudden Clay stopped though, pulling away and smiling sleepily at George. He gently tapped him on the nose.

“We should go somewhere a little more secluded.”

“Yeah,” George panted, already missing the feeling of Clay’s lips on his. Clay started walking and he followed, further down the hall until there was small door. Clay threw it open, revealing a small closet, big enough for the two of them and the bucket of mops that was already inside.

“After you,” Clay said. George stepped inside and it smelled like dust, but it didn’t matter because Clay was coming in behind him and shutting the door, leaving them in nothing but the dim light that leaked under it. It was such an intimate space, and in a moment Clay had pressed George back into the wall, kissing him again. George moaned softly, it just felt so good. Clay’s body was so warm, his lips were so soft. He wrapped his arms around Clay, never wanting him to stop. If he could have lived in the tenderness of that moment he would have.

But then Clay was pulling back again, looking at George as they both panted.

“Don’t stop,” George whispered, craving the warmth and the pressure of his body. It was something he never knew he needed, but now he couldn’t live without it. He could barely make out Clay’s grin in the low light, ripe with mischief.

“I don’t plan to,” He tilted George’s chin up with his hand, nuzzling the crook of his neck, planting his lips on the soft skin. George shivered, mouthing ‘Clay,’ thankful Clay couldn’t see his face. He traced a line down George’s throat with his mouth, leaving a trail of damp skin. George never thought his neck would be so sensitive, but it felt like everywhere Clay touched him was set on fire.

“That-” George’s breath hitched as Clay sucked his collarbone. His teeth scraped the skin, and it hurt a bit, but it wasn’t until he started moving lower that George felt uncomfortable. Clay was crouching, lips hovering above the neckline of George’s dress, looking up at him.

Now George felt very aware of his body. Aware of the fact he hadn’t been able to wear a binder, aware of the fact he was a man in a dress. He felt the urge to hide himself from Clay, but he knew Clay wanted just the opposite. George knew he was supposed to want this, he knew he was supposed to do what Clay wanted.

“Can I?” Clay asked politely, tugging at the neck of George’s dress. George was almost tricked that whether or not he wanted to continue would be his decision, but he noticed that in Clay's eyes was an instruction, not a question. _When I tell you to do something, you are going to do it_. George swallowed nervously and nodded. He fumbled with the back of his dress with shaky hands, unzipping it. Then Clay was sliding it down his body until it pooled on the floor. George stepped out of it.

He was in nothing but a black bra and panties, flats still on his feet. He crossed his arms over his chest, avoiding meeting Clay’s eyes as he looked him up and down.

“Much better,” Clay said. George couldn’t agree, but this was what Clay wanted, and he would give it to him while it mattered less. He knew this would only be more painful to endure later.

Clay ran his fingers along the curve of George’s back, up his spine to the hooks on his bra. George forced himself to think about anything else as Clay pried them apart, and removed the garment entirely, tossing it aside with the dress. George felt sick as Clay stared at his chest, wishing he could just cover himself up. This felt so wrong. He didn’t want to be touched there. He was still too _female._

Clay didn’t understand; he didn’t care. His hands squeezed and kneaded, his lips sucked and his teeth scraped tender skin. It could have felt good, it was an out of place sensation of pleasure that made George feel guilty for not enjoying it, even as soft moans slipped past his kiss-swollen lips.

When Clay finally stopped he gazed up at George, smiling with wet lips. His hands rested on George’s waist, and then he was standing up again, towering over him. George tilted his head up to look at Clay properly, trying to hide the discomfort in his eyes. He didn’t need Clay to know how conflicted he felt, as his hands roved over George’s skin. It was so warm, so tender, so wrong.

Clay kissed him again, firmer this time, gently biting at his bottom lip. George let himself be pressed back into the wall, the warm buzz of alcohol in his veins making it that much more bearable, but never quite enough. As Clay’s fingers fidgeted impatiently with the waistband on his underwear, he thought about asking him to stop, but he didn’t feel like he could. Clay had said this was a choice, but it didn’t feel like one. It felt like a requirement.

“C-Clay,” George whispered when Clay’s mouth separated from his, leaving him breathing hard. His body was trembling more than it had all night. Clay took it as an invitation, and in a moment that last piece of fabric covering George’s body was sliding to the floor. _I don’t think I can do this_ , George panicked, wanting to hide himself more than he ever had, desperately wishing he could make this stop.

But Clay was like a wall, hard and unrelenting, leaving George no leeway. His hand pressed softly on the inside of George’s thigh, and suddenly George felt sick, heat building in his body, like gas ready to be ignited, and set everything ablaze. He wasn’t sure how much of this he could handle before he lost his mind. This body just wasn’t meant for this, it wasn’t meant for anything.

Clay’s fingers prodded and stroked George, slow, almost teasing. He looked George in the eye, silently asking for permission that George felt obligated to give him. Lines between requirements and desire blurred, and George gave a brief nod to Clay, letting his eyes flutter closed. Clay plunged a finger into George and he felt himself stretch slightly to accommodate it, feeling so invasive. His eyes snapped open, a soft gasp coming from his throat.

Clay curled his finger upwards, rubbed small circles into the skin there. A mixture of pleasure, and discomfort at the foreignness of this sensation made George whine. His body wanted more, but his brain knew it didn’t feel right. Then Clay was adding a second finger, scissoring, stretching George. He moaned, biting his lip to try and stifle the sound. God knew how thin these walls were.

Clay buried his face in the soft hollow of George’s throat, free hand tilting his chin up, allowing him access to the space just beneath his jaw. Clay sucked on his skin, sparking pain as he worked his fingers into George, adding a third. All three flexed and crooked in unison and George’s hips bucked into his hand, the stimulation overwhelming. He felt hot tension peaking in his lower body.

_What’s wrong with me?_ He squeezed his eyes shut, his body tensing, but then Clay stopped, removing his hand. George kept his head down as Clay looked him over, seeming satisfied. For half a moment George's eyes lingered below Clay’s belt, where the loose fabric of his slacks was tented, and George felt nauseous. He wanted so badly for this to stop, but Clay just kept going. The way he touched him, the way he took control, it was so authoritative.

His suit jacket hit the floor, and George watched with baited breath as he took off his tie, and unbuttoned his shirt, then that was gone too. Clay’s chest was slightly pale, collarbones pronounced. Lean muscle started in his shoulders, following down to the ‘v’ of his narrow hips, left slightly exposed by low-riding dress pants. He was definitely attractive. The sight of him like this made George feel so conflicted. Maybe he did want Clay, just not so quickly, not in a place like this. Not in this fucking body.

“Clay?” George whispered, and Clay met his gaze, eyes almost hazy with desire.

“Hm?”

“I don’t,” George croaked, “I don’t think i can do this.”

“You can,” Clay said softly. “I’ll take good care of you, George it’ll be okay.” _We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with…_ Bullshit. George wanted to protest, wanted to yell and hope someone found them, but Clay was pinning his arms above his head, pushing his hips up against George’s. George felt the fabric of Clay’s pants against his bare skin, the press of his erection.

_It’ll be over soon_ , George told himself. He felt like his discomfort didn’t matter now, like he was somehow obligated to let Clay take what he wanted. He was giving away his body, giving away his everything, and distantly he wondered how often Clay would expect these things from him. How many times would he have to go through this? Would it be better or worse next time?

George couldn’t bring himself to look down as he heard Clay unbuckling his belt, then the sound of a zipper. When he’d poised himself to enter, he took a firm hold on George’s hips. Clay’s lips hovered by his ear.

“I need you to stay quiet,” Clay whispered, less request than demand. “Can you do that for me?”

George nodded, not really thinking about the question. He felt dizzy, lightheaded, fear mixed with peculiar anticipation rising inside of him. His cheeks were still warm, his heart beating aggressively fast. There was just, nothing, nothing he could say, nowhere he could go that would make this be over.

Then Clay was tugging George closer by his hips, the length of him slowly stretching George open, pushing inside him. George let out a silent cry, face scrunched, mouth open. Clay paused to watch his reaction, and when George’s face softened he thrust himself all the way in. He moved George back to the wall.

George’s eyes pricked with tears at the pain, feeling something tear inside of him. He hadn’t expected it to _hurt_ so much.

“Oh God,” he sobbed dryly, hating his voice, how feeble it sounded. He was being stretched too much, his body felt all wrong.

“Are you okay?” Clay asked, like it wasn’t his fault, like he didn’t want to see George like this. George knew he didn’t really care if it hurt, Clay was entitled, the type to take what he wanted and pretend to feel remorse. George wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of being weak.

“I’m fine,” George lied, eyes still shining with tears.

“How does that feel? Is it-”

“Stop talking and fuck me,” George whispered furiously, still hurting, just wanting this to be over as fast as possible. He couldn’t take Clay pretending to care, he just wanted him to be honest with how he was going to treat George.

Clay stared at him for a long moment, seemingly making sure that he was telling the truth, then relaxed when he thought that George was. Clay was smiling at him now, eyes still hazy with want and intent.

“If you insist,” he said, mouth ghosting over the bruises he’d left on George’s throat. He pulled himself out part way, pushing back in harshly. George let out a strangled cry from the pain, and Clay quickly clamped a hand over his mouth. “Quiet,” he scolded, voice hoarse, tone demanding. George whimpered softly, trying his best to keep the sound to a minimum.

Clay thrust in again and George wrapped his arms around his neck, fingers digging in as he held on. George felt raw as Clay kept moving inside him, the pain still unbearable. He buried his face in Clay’s shoulder, muffling a soft moan. He squeezed his eyes shut, muscles tensing. There was nothing for him to do to ease the pain. His mouth opened in a silent plea as Clay started to go quicker.

The burning and the irritation he felt was horrible. _I’ll take good care of you,_ Clay had promised. What a liar. Good wasn’t painful, invasive, or embarrassing like this was. George wanted to climb out of his skin, crawl into a hole and die. His body wasn’t meant for this, and it was such a big part of the reason he’d never been with anyone before. It was so wrong on so many levels.

Clay started to get rougher, panting raggedly, face contorting as he practically slammed into George. He was clearly enjoying himself... if only George could feel like that. He moaned out, too loud as he felt the bone on bone sensation of their hips connecting, and the invasiveness of Clay so deep inside of him. As soon as the sound had entered the room, Clay was kissing him, silencing him.

His lips pressed firm against George’s as he set an unrelenting pace with his body. George moaned again, Clay using teeth and tongue to keep his mind of the pain. But it was all he could think about. It hurt a bit less now, but Clay was overwhelming. George’s fingernails dug hard into Clay’s shoulder blades, as he forced himself to breathe.

There was heat building fast in George’s body, low and tight, like a rubber band being stretched or wrapped around something too many times. Despite the pain it got tighter with every thrust of Clay’s hips, closer to snapping. The anticipation was near enough to drive George mad, and no matter how bad he’d wanted Clay to stop he needed that rubber band to break.

He was so close, practically wheezing from so much stimulation. His back arched as his body ached for relief, and he just wanted it to stop. He buried his face in Clay’s shoulder, mouthing ‘please’ over and over. Clay’s thrusts were violent now, brisk and short but hitting so far inside of George.

“You’re doing so good, George,” he cooed, voice raspy from panting, filled with tension. From his tone, George knew this was almost over, and became slightly relieved at the idea that he would be done soon.

The rubber band tightened even more, so close now. Clay was becoming more unpredictable, and George rode it out, screaming silently, fingertips digging into Clay’s skin so hard he must have been bleeding. With one last thrust George was reaching his peak, and the sensation was hot, sharp, and _so_ painful. It felt amazing though, it was the most intense thing he’d ever felt.

That tight band snapped, and George was crying out, loud this time, “ _Clay_.” He moaned his name loudly, dimly aware that someone might have heard him, but he couldn’t help it. He completely unraveled, waves of steady heat racking his body as Clay picked up speed again, making the sensation even stronger.

George’s muscles still twitched and spasmed as Clay finally stopped, hissing, trying at least to keep himself quiet as he finished. George’s grip on Clay finally relaxed as his climax tapered off, and he let his arms go limp by his sides as Clay pulled out of him. For several minutes they just stood there, panting.

George felt disgusted with himself, so tired. The high of his climax was wearing off, and it just hurt now. He felt sore and sticky and violated, the area inside the closet certainly wasn’t warm anymore. Clay was putting his clothes back on and George was very aware of the fact his dress was still on the floor. He hated wearing dresses, but he just wanted something on him now. He just wanted to get away from Clay.

When George bent down to reach for the dress he saw the blood on his thighs. The sigh made him dizzy and queasy. It made him want to leave this body in here and not come back for it, but he had to get dressed and go back out. Clay tapped him on the shoulder, and George turned around to see him in the middle of buttoning up his shirt, offering a handkerchief.

“Here,” he said softly, and George took it quickly from him, using it to clean himself up as best as he could. Then he put his underwear back on, and stepped into the dress, pushing Clay’s hand away as he tried to zip it, opting to do it himself, despite the effort. Then George stumbled a few steps to the door.

“You should stay a few minutes,” Clay suggested. But George shook his head.

“I need to go,” George mumbled, pulling the door open. His wobbly legs carried him out into the hall.

“Let me help you,” Clay offered, voice once again gentle, like he hadn’t done the things he’d just did. George felt his jaw clenching in frustration. Clay reached for his wrist, a gentle action towards him, but he yanked it away.

“I need to go,” George said. _I need to get away from you,_ he meant. Then he was making his way in whatever direction felt safe, leading him further away from Clay. He just hoped this hall would be the one home.

At least Clay didn’t try to follow him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me what you thought of this! I really did put a lot of time into it! It's probably the longest fic chapter I've ever written.
> 
> -Whoreofaneboy


	4. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had revealed his body to Clay, to a stranger whom he barely even knew, though he was supposed to get married to him. Clay was indeed very attractive, very hot, and he seemed like he wasn’t the worst person in the world, but now George wasn’t so sure.

When George woke up the next day, he felt immediate pain. Pain all over, but especially in his groin. He hissed as he rolled over, trying to push himself up to a sitting position, but even doing that resulted in a sharp stinging feeling in his genitals. He groaned helplessly, tears springing to his eyes at the feeling. He hated how he felt last night and he hated how he felt now. He took shallow breaths as he recalled the events of what him and Clay did when they were in private.

He remembered how he was trying to drink some alcohol, but Clay tried to stop him, and as a result he got upset. He remembered how Clay led him away from the rest of the party, into a secluded hallway for them to talk more. He remembered how Clay kissed him… pinned him up against the wall and showed him who was in control. He remembered how Clay promised him that he wouldn’t hurt him, that he would make sure the experience was enjoyable for the both of them, but it wasn’t. Yes, there were some parts of the previous night that he had surprisingly liked, such as his orgasm at the end, but overall the experience was hurtful and made him feel even more self-conscious about his body.

He had revealed his body to Clay, to a stranger whom he barely even knew, though he was supposed to get married to him. Clay was indeed very attractive, very hot, and he seemed like he wasn’t the worst person in the world, but now George wasn’t so sure. Clay had taken advantage of him when he was the most vulnerable, induced by alcohol, and had done the deed sooner than he would have liked. Even though George might have initiated the first contact, he never said yes to anything that Clay asked of him, so it technically wasn’t consent. The thought made him wonder… was what happened yesterday equivalent to that of rape? _Was_ it rape? George had no clue. The prospect was very confusing, because he definitely liked some of the things that Clay had done to him, but he hadn’t ever said yes to them. He hadn’t ever verbally consented to what he was doing. So was it rape?

George forced himself to stand up, legs all wobbly, but somehow he managed. He noticed that he was back in his little black dress, assuming that he had passed out after the events last night, and Clay was nice enough to put it back on for him. George didn’t appreciate the little gesture, though, he hated it. He hated that even after he was violated in such a way, he still had to wear these feminine clothes that made him feel uncomfortable about himself and the body that he was in. He began to limp over to his closet, wanting to change into something more comfortable. He made his way to the door, opening it slowly, then going inside and closing it behind him.

As he made his way over to the back of the closet, where all the mirrors were, he caught a glimpse of himself and almost didn’t recognize his reflection. Who was he staring at? He was staring at a tired and dejected looking boy, with red bruises all over his neck and chest as well as dark bags under his eyes. His lips were all red and swollen, and his eyes were hooded, but not with lust. He looked extra tired, unbearably exhausted, and he hated seeing himself like that.

George looked away from the mirrors and limped over to the hoodie section of his closet, retrieving a Burberry hoodie. It was a simple black thing, oversized and sporting the white name of the brand, but it was exactly what he felt comfortable in. Clothes that didn’t hug his body, didn’t show off any of how it looked, clothes that he could hide himself in and feel safe in as he did. He held the hoodie with one hand as he used the other to reach behind him, clumsily gripping the zipper of his dress and pulling it down little by little. Once he had unzipped it, he stepped out, watching as the dress pooled around his feet. He scoffed at the tight material, kicking it off to the side as a result of his anger. He then pulled on the oversized hoodie, not even bothering to take off his bra. He did, however, change out of his black panties into a more comfortable pair of boxers - the hoodie was big enough to go down farther than them anyways. Once he had changed, he made his way back to his room, panting softly as he finally reached the edge of his bed.

It was then that he realized that Clay didn't use protection. He hadn't taken his birth control yet, though he'd been taking it for a couple years to manage bad period cramps, he'd never actually _needed_ it before.

Birth control. The thought of him, a boy, taking birth control to stop a baby from growing in his womb was utterly disgusting to him. He hated that he was trapped in this female body, when he wasn't one. He hated that he went through menstruation like a woman, that he had tits like a woman, that his hips were slightly too wide to be masculine, and more. He hated everything about himself in regards to his body, and now he had to do something that women had to do all the time to prevent himself from becoming pregnant. Pregnancy... a thing that women go through, not men.

George pushed himself up from the edge of his bed and limped over to his bathroom, throwing open the door as quickly and as violently as he could. He let loose a soft 'huff' with every step as he made his way over to the sink, gripping onto the side tightly with his hands as his legs wobbled from trying to keep himself standing. He let his hands slide over the cold marble as he got closer to the medicine cabinet, hesitantly taking one hand off to open the door. He grabbed his pill container as well as a cup that was in the medicine cabinet which was dedicated to filling with water if he ever needed to swallow a pill. He closed the medicine cabinet and then took the pill out of its holder, opening his mouth and putting it on the back of his tongue. He then filled up the cup with water, relaxing his throat and raising it to his lips. He closed his eyes as he took big gulps of the liquid, letting it wash the pill down as quickly as possible. Once he felt the pill was down, he chugged the rest of the water for good measure, then returned the pills and the cup to the medicine cabinet. 

George never liked swallowing pills, he normally choked or gagged when he did so. However, he would have to continue to take a pill every day for around a month or so, at least until he was sure that there would not be an egg developing in his belly. The thought made him sick. He wouldn't mind having kids one day, but he would mind being the one to birth them. He didn't want to put his body through that, it was just wrong, and would make him feel absolutely disgusting throughout the whole pregnancy process. Clay probably hadn't given a single fuck about protection, he probably just expected George to go buy himself Plan B. _So entitled_. Clay had promised to take good care of George. He was a liar.

George wiped some spare water that collected on the skin right above his lip away with his hand, then pushed himself towards the door leading back to his bedroom, trying to give himself some momentum so that he could get there before he collapsed. He stumbled out the door and just barely made it to the edge of the bed before his legs gave out on him, rendering him completely immobile and resulting in him falling not so gracefully on the soft covers. He groaned in annoyance and lifted his face, closing his eyes and trying to process things all over again.

What had happened to him? 

George sighed dejectedly and reached over to his nightstand, where his phone normally lived. He unplugged it from the charger and leant back on his bed, holding it above his head as he began to scroll through some news and emails wanting him to promote their products. George began to increasingly get a headache, and was about to set his phone down, when it buzzed softly with a new message from an unknown number. George’s eyes widened slightly - he never got texts from strangers - and tapped on the banner to open his messages. 

**???:** Hi George, this is Clay Arlington.

No. How could this be possible? George hadn’t given Clay his number, so how did he manage to get it!? After a while of debating whether he should reply or not, he decided that he should.

**You:** how did u get my #?

George got a response surprisingly quickly, though it didn’t answer his question.

**Maybe: Clay Arlington:** I have my ways. For someone of such a high stature, you text like a little girl.

George felt his cheeks get red at that, but from anger, not being flustered. How dare Clay insult his texting style!? It was the easiest way for him to text quickly, and being compared to a girl again didn’t help either. 

**You:** ok… so do u need smth?

**Maybe: Clay Arlington:** Yes, actually. I was thinking about last night, and I’m sure that you were too.

George froze. He didn’t want to talk about last night to anyone, especially Clay Arlington! He decided that he would try to shut the situation down, because if he were to ignore Clay, then he would probably be confronted about it when he saw him next.

**You:** what about it? it was good, end of story

**Maybe: Clay Arlington:** It _was_ good. That’s why we should do it again sometime. You were very sexy, you know.

George blushed madly at the last compliment, but the fact that Clay wanted to have sex with him again sparked an unknown fear in him. He didn’t know if he would want to do it again, or if he did, certainly not anytime soon! He was still trying to figure out whether or not last night was consensual, and until he did, he didn’t want anything else to do with Clay.

**You:** idk. last night shouldn’t have happened

George felt anxious this time as he waited for a response from Clay, not knowing whether or not he would be mad or understanding. Pretty soon, his phone buzzed again with a response, and his eyes widened as he read it over.

**Maybe: Clay Arlington:** Why do you say that? I enjoyed it, and apparently so did you. 

**Maybe: Clay Arlington:** We probably won’t see each other for a few days now while our parents discuss next steps for our marriage, so why don’t we video call? I want to see you.

George gulped and his hands shook nervously as he slowly typed out a response.

**You:** right now? why do u wanna see me?

**Maybe: Clay Arlington:** I want to see your reaction to what I did to you last night. I want to be able to praise you so that you can hear my voice, and not just over text. I want to be able to see how aroused you get as a result and watch you masturbate while I do the same. Is that okay?

Clay’s response sent shivers down George’s spine, in both ways. It was certainly sexy how blunt he was being, but the prospect of pointing his camera down there, where he was violated before and where he felt the most self-conscious about himself and treating himself like a girl was completely and utterly sickening to him. However, he didn’t want to be bad for Clay, thinking of the punishments that he could get if he didn’t follow his rules. _I promise you, George Cladwell, I’ll treat you like a king, but only if you listen to me and follow my wishes. If you don’t, I’ll make your life a living hell._ Clay’s words replayed in his head. George certainly didn’t want to find out what Clay’s definition of a living hell was, so he responded quickly.

**You:** as long as ur quiet

Almost no time after he had responded, he received a request to FaceTime call from Clay Arlington. George gulped and stared at the phone for what seemed like forever, before slowly gaining the courage to swipe to the right and accept the call. When he did, the phone shook a little bit from Clay’s end, then was positioned on his face. He had a bit of a bedhead, his eyes were slightly hooded from being drowsy, and he had a red mark on his face from what looked to be him resting his head on his hand. Nonetheless, he looked absolutely stunning. George propped his phone up against his lamp, then shoved his hands in the pocket of his hoodie, forcing a smile for Clay.

“Hello there, handsome,” Clay smiled softly, yawning and rubbing his eyes a bit. “I missed you through the night.”

George felt a blush rise to his cheeks, then pulled his right hand out of his hoodie pocket and tentatively waved at Clay. “Hi…”

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you once I got home,” Clay spoke in that low voice of his, slightly hoarser than what it normally would be due to him having just woken up. “You were perfect for me last night, George.”

“I… I guess you were pretty good too,” George said softly, and he meant it, but he was still unsure if he was ready for a sexual relationship. Even though he was barely audible, apparently Clay had heard him.

“Aww, thank you Georgie!” He laughed brightly, and one would think that by his cheerful expression and the way that he was looking at George that he hadn’t just violated him last night. After he calmed down, he stared at George with those beautiful eyes of his. “You’re wearing another sweater, huh?”

George nodded, looking down at his lap, his hair falling slightly over his eyes. 

“You know that I would prefer you not to wear a hoodie,” Clay said quietly. “Especially because we’re in the middle of summer these days. I don’t know how you manage to do it.”

George said nothing, thinking that he disappointed Clay. He felt guilty again, and it only added to the doubts that he already had before about the previous night. He was supposed to have wanted Clay right then and there, but while it was happening, a part of him wanted the blonde to stop. However, he didn’t, and it had resulted in George giving his virginity to someone whom he regretted giving it to. Or did he? He didn't even know anymore, the whole experience with Clay was both disgusting and fantastically incredible at the same time.

“You can keep the hoodie on if you want, I guess,” Clay said after a while. “But why don’t you point the camera down for me, hm?”

George felt anxiety pool in his stomach, not knowing what to do. He looked back up at the camera, stuttering slightly as he tried to find an excuse to put it off. “Y-you first…”

Clay stared at George with lustful eyes, then chuckled. “Fine, since you asked so nicely,” he put the camera down for a moment and George got a clear view of Clay’s ceiling as he heard some shuffling and then some lewder noises. He then saw a hand as Clay grabbed his phone once again, pointing the camera downwards. It showed off him slowly rubbing his length, using the thumb to trace circles around the tip every time that he went back up. “Your turn,” Clay breathed out, chuckling at the look on George’s face.

George was wide-eyed, watching as Clay stroked himself. He had to admit, the sight was very hot, but it also made him very uncomfortable as well. He knew that he had to do something in return for Clay, but he didn’t want to show his clit to him. It was different when he couldn’t see himself in the little corner of the screen, but then again, not that much so. Even though he couldn’t see himself last night while Clay was in the process of doing the deed with him, he could feel it. He could feel Clay inside of him, inside of an area in which he wasn’t supposed to be in, and somehow that memory seemed worse than George doing it himself. However, he couldn’t point the camera down there for Clay, he just couldn’t. He wasn’t comfortable doing so, and he was already hating himself a lot more than usual since he had let Clay take his virginity. George gulped and looked around nervously, rubbing his arm and wondering what to do. He then heard Clay’s voice pipe up again, slightly more commanding after he didn’t do what he asked.

“George? Point your camera towards your cunt, please.”

George couldn’t. He felt himself begin to hyperventilate, trying to catch his breath as he stared blankly at the camera in front of him. Clay seemed to notice this change, and stopped stroking himself, his tone sounding a bit more worried as he watched George. “George… is everything okay?”

George finally broke, and grabbed his phone from the nightstand, tears beginning to slip down his cheeks. “I-I’m sorry. I can’t, I just can’t!” He cried before abruptly ending the call, throwing the phone down onto his bed and burying his face in his hands. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t possibly just accept his body for what it was when it was just a cage stopping him from feeling completely confident about himself. He couldn’t treat himself as if he wasn’t trapped in his own skin, as if he just _accepted_ the fact that he had a feminine looking body. He hated it, and he hated himself because of it.

Pretty soon, there were multiple buzzes coming from his phone, from Clay, George assumed, but he didn’t want to check them. Nonetheless, he did, seeing that he would have to see Clay eventually. Might as well know what he was saying.

**Maybe: Clay Arlington:** George? Is everything okay? What happened?

**Maybe: Clay Arlington:** Did I do something wrong? Are you alright?

**Maybe: Clay Arlington:** George. I know you’re seeing this. Please respond, I’m worried about you.

George felt terrible, he didn’t want to make Clay feel like he did something wrong when in reality he didn’t. Well, perhaps he might have taken advantage of George last night, but he didn’t do anything wrong during the video call. George debated picking up his phone and saying something, just to let Clay know that he wasn’t in the wrong, when he got one more text from him.

**Maybe: Clay Arlington:** Do I really have to call you Charlotte in order to get you to respond? Charlotte, answer me.

That did it. George became increasingly furious as he stared at the notification on his lock screen. He couldn’t believe that Clay would call him that, especially after being so accepting of his gender, even when he couldn't get surgery! Trying to get George to respond out of anger by using his dead name… that was just low. Very low. George decided right then and there that he was not going to respond to Clay, not going to read any more of his messages, and ghost him. He didn’t deserve a response from George reassuring him that he did nothing wrong, because now he was _definitely_ at fault.

At this rate, he didn’t care that in a few days he would have to face Clay in person. He would cross that bridge when he got to it. Until then, he would keep his distance, and try to think of anything else during the time in between their next meeting. However, he wasn’t sure if that would be possible, due to the fact that Clay did take advantage of him last night… 

He would just have to figure it out alone, like he always had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! 'Tis I, Astrid, and I wrote it! Hope you like the angst and leave a comment to let me know how you feel! Love you all! <3

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time doing a collab fic! And me and AstridEquinox will be alternating writing each chapter! I hope you guys enjoyed this one and that you enjoy future chapters! Please feel free to leave a comment, feedback means a lot <3


End file.
